


the motion of taxis excites me

by Cerberusia



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your alternate personality taking over your body to masturbate is at best highly awkward. When that alternate personality is a sadist with only a tenuous grip on sanity, it becomes an opportunity for humiliation. Of course, for Hallelujah that's part of the fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the motion of taxis excites me

**Author's Note:**

> Years later, long after I've left the fandom, I finally finish off the last of my Halle/Alle trifecta, all titled after Morrisey's _Something Is Squeezing My Skull_. Well, _I'm_ satisfied.

When Allelujah is in control of the body, Hallelujah is always aware of what's going on, lurking in the back of his mind, often providing a (filthy) running commentary. Allelujah finds it one of the most annoying parts of having someone else in his head. The things he says - they're things that Allelujah wouldn't even think of, never mind voice (except that Hallelujah is actually a part of him, which means - but he doesn't like to think about that).

Therefore, the reverse is true when Hallelujah is in control: Allelujah is present and excrutiatingly conscious. He experiences all that Hallelujah does first hand. And, while Hallelujah only usually takes over when (he thinks) he's needed - that is to say, in combat or otherwise stressful situations - in a GN-particle heavy environment like the Ptolemaios, he can afford to come out and have a little fun with Allelujah. And Allelujah never likes Hallelujah's idea of 'fun'.

Right now, Allelujah just wants to sleep. He's spent a day running practice simulations in Kyrios, partly for the experience and partly to stay out of the way of Tieria, who after the mess with Seravee has spent the past few days fairly vibrating with repressed rage, and has taken up the habit of ambushing unsuspecting crewmembers to harrass them. It took a great deal of Allelujah's tactical skills to slip past towards the hangar while Tieria was busy haranguing Lichty.

Hallelujah is not tired. Hallelujah is bored and slightly frustrated by having to run simulations instead of engaging in real battles with real blood. So, in lieu of venting his frustrations on convenient enemy MSes, he'll settle for tormenting Allelujah.

Your alternate personality taking over your body to masturbate is at best highly awkward. When that alternate personality is a sadist with only a tenuous grip on sanity, it becomes an opportunity for humiliation. Of course, for Hallelujah that's part of the fun.

In the back of Allelujah's mind, a rough voice says something like _stress relief_ , and Allelujah snorts because this is _so far_ from relieving his stress right now. The best stress relief would in fact be Hallelujah _leaving him alone_ , but they both know that's never going to happen. Slumped in his computer chair, he tries to summon the will to go and fetch himself some tea.

Allelujah's legs open of their own accord. _C'mon_ , say's Hallelujah's voice, _don't be boring_.

With a muttered curse, Allelujah pitches his torso forward and lets his head and arms drop to the desk. He's tired and cross and in no mood for Hallelujah's shit.

_Aw, you know you'll feel better afterwards._ Hallelujah's phantom breath is hot on his ear. Allelujah doesn't believe him: physical release is one thing, mental quiescence is another.

He feels his consciousness fade, feels his limbs become light and then nothing. He drifts. When the world comes into focus again, it's at one remove, as if seen through water. His hand undoes his trousers: his head is braced on his arm on the edge of the desk, and he watches the hand as if it might belong to a stranger. The zip makes no sound.

The hand reaches into his underwear and grasps his cock, provoking a muted sense of pleasure. He thinks his mouth opens.

_Oh, this is no good._ Hallelujah's disgusted voice rings clearly through the haze in his mind. For several seconds, Allelujah is disoriented; his body moves without his consent and he is fully conscious of it.

Fighting vertigo, he braces himself with a hand on the desk. His trousers are now down about his knees, along with his underwear, and the first two fingers of his left hand are slick. There is a tube on the desk; he doesn't need to read it to know what is.

_C'mon,_ Hallelujah croons, _don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be._

God, sometimes he hates Hallelujah _so much_.

Allelujah takes his cock in hand and tries to pretend that being ordered around by his split personality does nothing for him. His denial isn't very convincing.

_That's better._ He has the impression of Hallelujah sitting back smugly to watch. Bastard doesn't even have to do any of the work now. Pushing away his tiredness, he sets to with a will: better get it over and done with.

Luckily, if there's one attribute Hallelujah definitely lacks - aside from morality - it's patience. He won't make Allelujah draw it out. He thinks. He rubs his thumb over the head of his cock as he positions his fingers at his arsehole and starts to push them in. It feels good, pressing against the tender nerve endings in there, but it never feels quite _right_ , so he has to distract himself to stay loose. He rocks forward in the chair to get a better angle with his fingers.

_Bitch_. Hallelujah's tone is one of amused contempt. Allelujah bites his lip. Well, it is contemptible, isn't it? Hallelujah applies some mental pressure and he caves, every time. Like Hallelujah tells him: _I couldn't do this if you didn't want it deep down_. This is what it means to share a body, share a mind. _You created me to protect yourself: I could never really hurt you._

But it _feels_ hurtful when he presses his fingers harder, twists them and gasps, and he can hear Hallelujah giggle, high and nasal.

_It's not healthy to hate yourself this much,_ Hallelujah tells him smugly. Allelujah bares his teeth at thin air.

Nails rake down his back, leaving a delicious sting. Allelujah arches and sighs; of course, Hallelujah knows how much he likes that. Again, the drag, the sting - Allelujah hisses and works his fingers faster, eyes closing in pleasure.

Hallelujah keeps doing it, harder and harder, deeper and deeper, until real nails would surely be drawing blood. Allelujah rocks back and forth, shoving his fingers into himself and working his dick. He's weak to this, always so weak; Hallelujah knows how to make it good, how to make it _perfect_ , if only he cooperates.

A hand at his neck, not choking but restraining; slowly, slowly, nails dragging down his neck, over his collarbones, down his chest to catch at his nipples, down his abdomen, down -

The pulsing wave of orgasm is so intense that it brings tears to his eyes as he curls forward, sparkling pinpricks of pain all over his torso stinging in delicious counterpoint.

He crumples back into his desk chair, feeling the loss of tension and the slight ache in his abdomen that accompanies orgasm. He feels drained and discontent.

_Post-coital tristesse? Does Sumeragi know?_ Allelujah gives his computer monitor the finger. Hallelujah just snorts. He can afford to be smug: he's won this round.


End file.
